Finding Your Muse
by Fauxstales
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a struggling British writer in the big city of New York who hopes to make it big. Amelia Jones is a waitress at the local cafe he frequents for his afternoon tea with her own aspirations of becoming a great actress on the stage. Together, the two find inspiration in one another to follow their dreams regardless of what you've been handed in life.
1. Chapter 1

" Bollocks! That won't do either!"

Arthur Kirkland crumpled up yet another page of his journal and tore it away from the book's seams forcefully. He'd been attempting to write the next chapter of his novella for weeks, but it each time he sat down to work on it, the words escaped him. It had always been his dream to be a famous writer one day, spinning yarns of fantastic places, romantic plights, and heroic battles. Even as a boy, he had made a name for himself regaling bedtime stories to his younger siblings, who would listen in awestruck wonder and rush to bed the next evening for want of more. Now, it seemed, that Arthur was at an impasse. He was living in shabby one-room apartment in New York, having sold almost everything he owned to move from London to America in hopes of following his dream. He'd been introduced to some of the literary greats by his uncle, witnessed the masterful works of musical theatre and plays; he was certain that if he was going to make it anywhere as a writer, it would be in America. And yet…

_What am I even doing here anymore._

"There's my grumpy brit!"

A light and cheery voice Arthur away from his dreary thoughts. Although he'd only been in America for 6 months, he'd managed to find his way to a quaint little diner that, in his opinion, served the best tea there was in this entire infernal city. He would come, every afternoon around two o'clock, sit in the booth nearest one of the large glass windows, and order his favorite cup of English Breakfast. No doubt he was a regular at the hole-in-the-wall establishment, and often times his beverage of choice had already been brewed and ready soon as he walked through the door. Even the staff knew him by name, often conversing with him as he enjoyed his drink (and admittedly avoided the trial of finding inspiration to write). In particular was one Amelia Jones, a lovely young lady with big dreams and an even bigger mouth. She was always the first to greet him, exuding her charismatic charm. It was quite contagious, really.

Today was a day like any other, so he shouldn't have been so surprised to see her, standing there in cafe garb that did her curvacious figure no charm what-so-ever, a tray in her hand and a pencil sticking out from behind her left ear. Her bright blue eyes locked into Arthur's face, just now realizing that he'd been staring rather rudely at her for an uncomfortable period of time.

"Hello? Earth to Arthur!"

"Oh! Yes, I'm sorry, Ms. Amelia, my head seems to be in the clouds this morning. How are you today?"

"Ha, your head is always in the clouds, Arthur." Amelia teased, shifting the tray into a more stable position between her palm and shoulder. "And what did I say about calling me that? It's just Amelia. O.K?" She put emphasis on the latter part of her sentence that went beyond that of a friendly reminder.

He knew better than to challenge her instance, merely smiling in return.

"Quite right."

Amelia looked over Arthur's features critically, a look of concern growing as she spotted the discarded pen and sorry state of what Arthur called his "Writing Journal". Due to Arthur's frequent visitation to the cafe, she was familiar with his exploits and aspirations of writing, but she had not once seen him in here with a pleasant expression as he scribbled in that journal of his. Today was no exception.

"What'cha working on today, Art?" She checked over her shoulder to make sure that no tables called for her attention, and then placed the empty tray on the table adjacent to her. "Another thriller like the last one you were writing?"

"It's just the same old one I've been working on since I moved here, Amelia. There hasn't been much progress." Arthur sighed as he clutched the wad of paper he still held in his hand from his earlier rejection.

Amelia caught sight of this, her curiosity too much for her to resist.

"Oh? You've done some 'scrawling' today, as you call it? Let me see!"

She reached her hand for Arthur's, the man snatching it away just out of reach.

"It-it's really nothing! Nothing but a failed drabble of ideas that aren't worth anyone's time or effort attempting to decipher. Don't you have tables to attend-"

It was too late, as Arthur had been so focused on his rambling, he hadn't noticed Amelia skillfully slip behind him and grab the bit of tattered paper that poked out of his fist, wrenching it free of its prison. "Oi! Give that back!"

Amelia giggled as she stepped a few paces from the table, beginning to unravel the wrinkled mess. Arthur scooted his chair out from behind him to stand, but was either too embarrassed to pursue her further or, perhaps, he was genuinely interested in what she would have to say.

Her eyes flew across the page of beautifully-written script, his handwriting being one of the many charms her strange gentleman companion had that made him so unique. That and his luxuriously thick eyebrows. She looked up over the rim of the paper back to Arthur, who seemed frozen mid-step, and gave a nod of approval.

"This is a really good idea, Arthur. Why did you crumple it up like this?"

Arthur huffed and finally made his way over to her, eyes turned to the ground.

"There's no essence to it at all. The main character lacks any sort of believable motivation, the antagonist is unrealistic and bland, and there's still cohesive progression. It's utter rubbish and I would very much appreciate if I could have it back to throw it away in the bin where it belongs."

He held out his hand, palm upwards, awaiting for the scrap to be placed in it, and was confused when it never arrived. He turned his face back up to Amelia's, the young woman's characteristic big-lipped pout displaying a sure sign of disappointment in his actions. He sighed.

"Amelia…"

"Arthur."

The two shared a moment of silence until the Englishman finally caved.

"Why do you insist upon being so stubborn about this? I've attempted to abandon this story twice and have not yet solely for the fact that you're so intent upon torturing me to continue." Arthur ran a hand through his messy blond hair in exasperation. "What's got you so bewitched about it?"

Amelia placed the hand that was holding his paper on her hip, her tone becoming more serious.

"It's because I hate seeing you so down on yourself all the time, Arthur. You've got _wonderful_ ideas up there in that head, even if it _is_ up in the clouds all the time. You're just too critical of yourself, and need an outside perspective from time to time." Amelia shifted her feet, voice a bit softer than before. "Also...I really identify with the main character. He's got a real sense of duty, ready to pursue his dreams despite having grown up in such awful circumstances. It's kind of inspirational, ya know? It gives me hope that maybe one day I can get off the 'farm' and head for a life somewhere out there with the stars."

Arthur observed Amelia quietly, his hands falling to his sides. Of course, he knew she hadn't been speaking of a real farm; her clever analogy spoke of his novella's protagonist in comparison with her own goals of one-day becoming a star on the New York, perhaps even Hollywood, stage. She'd expressed to him during many of their afternoon talks that she was only at this cafe as she waited for her big break. She'd dreamt of being an actress since she was little. She'd taken what little savings she had as a teen and dropped out of school to pursue professional acting courses here in the city. She'd been banished from returning home, even blocked off from ever seeing her family again until she'd proven that her choice had been worth it. After over a year of auditions and lucky breaks, she'd still only managed to find work as a waitress in the same lonely cafe that he had stumbled upon himself.

Unlike him, however, she was always bright and happy. She was always looking forward to tomorrow, hopeful and determined that tomorrow was just around the bend, and that her chance would come. Arthur could feel the edges of his mouth turning up, his face softened. She was the one who was inspirational, not him.

"Are you planning on coming down anytime soon? I have to get back to work."

Amelia stood there, tapping her foot, a light blush on her cheeks as the other customers had begun to stare at the pair for all the commotion they were causing.

"Oh! So sorry." Arthur's hands fumbled, reaching out for the paper that Amelia had finally surrendered. Instead of pulling it away immediately, his hand lingered on her own, exchanging glances with his conversation partner in admiration. "Thank you, Amelia. You're right, I really should get back to my writing."

Amelia was never one to shy away from anything. Still somehow this subtle touch, the appreciation in his voice, had caused her typically unshakeable resolve to falter and she hurriedly withdrew her arm back to her as soon as Arthur retrieved his work. Her eyes shifted to the side, dismissing his compliment with a hardly audible 'you're welcome', took up her tray and left for the other side of the cafe.

Arthur returned to his table against the large glass windows overlooking the city below and took another sip of his, by now, cold tea. He straightened out the edges of his paper and placed it securely inside the front cover of his journal. Taking up his pen once more, he began to write.


	2. UPDATE

Hello there!

Thank you all SO much for such amazingly wonderful reviews and interests that you've shown in my little drabble (that literally I did for fun/wanted to get the idea out there). I originally had /no/ intention of continuing it, but after how much positive feedback it's received, I thought that I'd make a compromise and created a blog on tumblr instead for it! You can follow Arthur and his exploits here:

ask- writerarthur .tumblr .com

OR you can ask him a few questions. Updates on the blog will most likely become canon with the story, should I decide to add another chapter up here in response to them. Thank you again for your support and I hope you enjoy!

~Faux


	3. The Lonely Table

Arthur Kirkland had passed by the shop many times before, but it wasn't until now that he had really taken a long, hard look at it.

**_The Tea and Ink_**

The wooden, hand-painted sign seemed old fashion surrounded by all the neon lights and flashing projection screens that surrounded the busy corner of a forgotten New York street. The cold chill of a January freeze had kept most tourists who frequented the streets away, but Arthur, having been born in a place of rain and cold, was use to it. He tugged lightly at the scarf that wrapped about his neck before shoving his pale hands back into his warm brown coat pockets. He pushed open the door.

The interior was as quaint as the outside had been: homely, yet inviting. An array of mismatched furniture was scattered about the outer edges of a central dining area, things like couches and beanbag chairs situated adjacent to outlets for the "hipsters" who wished to sip their coffee in peace as they browsed the web. Arthur wouldn't be the first to admit it, but was technically "one of their kind". Aside from that, abstract paintings were hung against brick walls that faded into silver-topped round tables and chairs. All in all it wasn't anything to write home about.

"Welcome to the Tea and Ink!"

Arthur's head turned to face a young, dark skinned girl with black pigtails, wearing a grin from ear to ear. She was dressed in a burgundy blouse with a deep blue collar, the same hue that matched the knee-length skirt of her uniform. A strack white name tag read in all capitals: "SEY". Arthur turned his head to spy behind him, wondering if she was greeting a more familiar face than his messy-haired mug.

"No, Sir, I'm talking to you!"

"Oh, my apologies. Thank you….I'm afraid that this is my first time here. You see, I've just moved here from-"

"The UK, right?"

Arthur wasn't surprised that she'd discovered his identity so quickly. He'd been teased about eating nothing but scones and having bad teeth (though his teeth were next to flawless, he liked to think) since he'd arrived not two weeks ago.

"Why yes. Seems I can't blend in well with the locals just yet."

The girl laughed, a cheerful, bright sound much like that of ringing bells. She walked forward to greet him at the hostess' desk and scrawled something on a piece of paper that was there.

"Don't worry, we don't discriminate here. Anyone who enjoys tea and a quiet afternoon with a book is welcome." She looked back up from her writing to him. "Feel free to hang your coat by the door and you can sit anywhere you'd like. Your server will be with you shortly."

She said not a word more before turning back to resume her own waiting duties, a young couple in the far corner of the restaurant having called her attention. Arthur was hesitant at first, but soon removed his long coat and placed it on a hook among the handful of others already there. He scanned the layout carefully for prime real estate before settling on a lonely table by a set of large, glass windows. He slid into his chair into a somewhat haggard slump.

He'd come to the States to find direction in his writing, to make it big in the Big City, but so far, he hadn't been able to jot down a single idea. He removed the iphone from his pocket, which had been buzzing for some time now that he had purposefully ignored. A dozen or so calls and texts he'd missed from his family. Was he alright? Had the weather perked up any? Did he remember to pack enough socks. Arthur sighed and tried to formulate a response; even that was difficult now-a-days.

"Afternoon, Sir! Don't mean to interrupt, but my name's Amelia and I'll be your server."

Arthur tore his eyes away from the glowing screen to gaze up at the pleasing, young face of a blonde waitress with shoulder-length hair and stunning blue eyes. She was decked in the same garb as her co-worker, though it was quite a bit more filled out when she wore it than her former. She balanced a small tray against her shoulder that held a steaming, light-blue cup and matching miniature kettle, complete with sugar, cream, and stirrer. She placed the tray down on the table before him and began dividing it at various points its reflective surface. Arthur spotted the name tag, intrigued to see the name "AMI" on it instead of the title she had just given.

"Thank you, dear, but I didn't order anything yet..."

Amelia stood straight again, holding the tray flat against her middle with both hands wrapped around it.

"Oh I know, Sir. But here at _The Tea and Ink, _we pride ourselves with being able to read our customers and their beverage of choice. " She reached up to tuck a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear, revealing a pair of red star-earrings that matched the barrett she wore to pull back her bangs. "I saw you as you came in and just _knew_ that you could use a nice warm cup of tea to wake you up and warm those bony cheeks of yours."

Arthur gave the waitress a once-over again, raising his brow at her accusation.

"I see...And what variety of tea, if I may ask, did you decide I was in most need of?" he inquired. He trained his eyes to the woman and sat, expectant.

Amelia waved her hand to dismiss the challenge.

"Why English Breakfast, of course. There aren't many locals that enjoy the dark stuff, but I had a feeling that a gentleman like you would. Plus," she put two fingers over her right brow, winking as she added, "I've never met an American with quite such impressive brows as yours, so I knew that you had to be a tea-cultured Brit."

Arthur wished he'd still had his scarf to cover the flush of heat that radiated out from his cheeks to his ears. He instead huffed, eyes darting quickly to the side where the steaming cup still lay in wait. This kind of behavior was not unusual to him now, but he didn't need it coming from a _waitress_ whose only job was delivering food and washing dishes.

She was lucky she'd gotten it right.

"Ahh...Your deductive reasoning is most impressive." he offered as a snark reply, reaching for the spoon and sugar container to make what his mother liked to call his concoction: Tea-flavored milk. "Well your assistance is most appreciated and I will be sure to call you should I need anything in the future."

With that, he hoped to dismiss her and set about preparing his drink. He pulled the small karaff of cream and poured at least half of it into his mug, adding two lumps for every two seconds of pouring, pausing to stir in between. Just as he finished and was about to put it his lips...he realized that the other still hadn't left his side. He blinked up to the figure, his expression gradually growing more sour by the minute.

"As I said before, thank you for your help and I will be sure to recommend your powers of ingenuity to any other customer who asks, but as of now, I'm no longer in need of anything."

Amelia merely continued to gaze at him with a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. She quickly turned her head to spy the kitchen and row of nearly empty tables behind her. Without warning, she placed her tray on a nearby railing, pulled out the chair opposite Arthur's, and sat down across from him.

"So what brings you to America?"

Arthur nearly sprayed her with tea, having barely taken a sip before she decided to join him. He looked taken-aback by this forward invitation. Still, this _was_ America, after all. Those Americans felt they could do whatever they pleased and get away with it. "Land of the Free" indeed.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude….But surely you have other duties you need to attend to. I don't wish to keep you from them with boring tales of my origin."

"Oh I'm sure they're not boring! And we're over-staffed today anyway." She rolled her eyes. "We're overstaffed all the time, actually, but I digress." Tilting her head to the side, she placed her hand on her cheek. "You're not expecting anyone else, are you?"

"Well, no…"

"Good! Then this seat's not taken and you've got a whole load of tea to go through. Why not spend it with some afternoon conversation?"

Arthur was severely puzzled. This strange, though admittedly attractive, mom-and-pop cafe waitress had just plopped down in front of him and expected him to tell his life story. Yet no matter how he protested the idea, a small voice in the back of his head urged him to take the bait.

"If you must know, I'm a writer. I've come in hopes like many have to make something of myself and improve upon my work." He took a long sip of his tea. It was quite good, actually.

"Ohhhhh…..That's so cool! A writer, huh? What kind of things do you write? Have you written any novels that I might need to pick up? I love reading myself. That's why I work in a book cafe, after all."

Her response was all the motivation Arthur needed to continue, and before he knew it, the entire pot of tea (and two hours) had gone by and Amelia had to return to work.

"Oh! Look at the time-sorry that I kept you from your writing, but it was really great talking with you, Artie! We'll have to do it again some time!"

Arthur ignored the jest at his name and stood up from the table.

"I will say, that is some of the best tea I've had since I moved here. I'll most certainly make my way by here again."

"We open tomorrow at 10! See you then!"

And before Arthur could protest, she'd gathered up his dirty dishes and rushed towards the back, leaving the confused Brit to mull over everything that had just happened, his mind a blur of thoughts and emotions. Perhaps his inspiration had found its way over here to America after all.


	4. A Professional Get-together

"So I thought that we'd head to the park first, perhaps do a little reading there while it's still light. It's usually not busy this time of day, so we shouldn't be interrupted by anything while we discuss the direction for the story."

"Mhmm."

"I decided not to bring the laptop this time, so I won't be able to take notes quite as fast, but don't let that stop you from offering suggestions for my work! You know I always appreciate your opinion."

"Arthur."

"Also, I wasn't certain if you would have eaten or not yet, and I was already making some stew for my meals for the remainder of the week, so I brought you some as well."

"Artie, are you even-Wait, what?"

* * *

The idea had been nagging at him all day until he'd finally mustered up the courage to ask Amelia out for a "personal get-together". Though he hadn't expected such a quick and positive response, he'd spent all day preparing for their evening. Just as instructed, he'd met Amelia after work and was pleasantly surprised that his clothing choice and meeting place had been well received. The two walked side by side down the sidewalk on the way to the park, Arthur's bag occasionally knocking at his knees as he tried not to look nervous about the entire situation.

Taking Amelia's inquiry as his cue, he stopped and pulled from his case a small container of beef stew-still warm.

"It's Beef Stew! A recipe straight from my mother." he answered, seeming pleased with himself.

Amelia offered a wavering smile in return. She'd had his cooking before.

"O-Oh! Thanks, Arthur. That's so…._sweet_ of you!"

If Arthur had caught the uncertainty in her tone, he didn't show it and merely returned the stew to his bag.

"Eating it here, however, would be quite odd. Are you willing to wait until we reach the park?"

"Hahaha," she laughed weakly, "Don't worry about me, Artie. You know I snack all the time at work." she repositioned the shoulder strap of her purse nervously, "Though I guess I should cut down on those scones, huh?"

"Amelia, you're a lovely woman who shouldn't have to worry about appearances. I won't have you dragging yourself down like those walking sticks on the run-way these days."

The words had left his lips before he could contain them, and he wasn't entirely sure he regretted. He meant what he said….but perhaps not in such an informal manner. He dared look to her out of the corner of his eyes, her gentle smile causing him to flush wildly.

"AHEM! I mean...Why don't we continue before it gets any darker, eh?"

* * *

They reached the outskirts of the park and Arthur immediately began scouting for an unoccupied bench. No sooner had he found it than Amelia had spied another object of interest.

"Be right back!" she called, not even waiting for his response as she scurried over to a colorful white van with a rotating ice-cream cone on top of it.

Arthur stood by his chosen territory, disappointment on his face when his dat-professional acquaintance arrived with a triple-decker scoop of chocolate ice cream on a waffle cone. A look of sheer joy was spread across her face, which fell only slightly when she noticed Arthur's expression.

"Ohhhh that's right, the stew! Sorry, Art. I'll be sure to try your stew some other time, though."

"You and your ice cream," Arthur sighed, "Right, right. I'll hold you to that."

The two sat down and Arthur pulled out the infamous _Black Journal of Infinite Possibilities_.

"The ideas I have for this chapter, I'll admit, is a bit stranger than the previous

ones."

"Robbie been helping you write them again?"

"For the last time, his name is Christopher Robin. You may address him as

Robin, Christopher, or Chris; _Robbie_ is not appropriate for a cat of his stature."

Amelia laughed.

"You know I just love to tease you," she eyed her treat, "You sure you don't want some?" she offered, holding it out just inches from his face as if to suggest he have

the first bite.

Arthur's hands clenched the edges of the journal, swallowing hard to the implication of her actions. He regained his composure and politely shook his head.

"Your American confections are a bit too sweet for me, besides, I don't want to waste any of your beloved 'joy on a cone', as you say."

Amelia merely shrugged and then began to unceremoniously consume her meal.

She looked up to the page with expectant eyes, although he knew that she still wanted him to read it aloud. That's one thing they'd guessed right over there in England: American girls had a thing for British accents. Of course, he didn't mind. Reading out loud was a great way for him to see if his writing truly made any sense...it was just a bonus that it made his "professional editor" happy as well.

* * *

"And that's what I've got so far." Arthur closed the journal with a resounding 'snap'. The lights from nearby lamps that had clicked on once the sun set emitted a soft glow about the two now. Amelia had finished her ice cream long ago and now sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Her eyes fluttered ever so slightly.

"Wow, Alfred definitely had to go through a lot, didn't he? Seems a little unfair to make that Alice girl so mean to him just because he's a bit of a hick." Amelia spoke from personal experience, having come from the small-town farm life as well.

"Well, it is a bit of a brash individual. It's hard to warm up to someone who's outgoing enough for the whole town. You have to remember that Alice is an introvert. The two really shouldn't like each other"

"But they do, don't they?"

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but paused to see Amelia sporting her puppy-dog eyes. Among the many things about Amelia that Arthur was weak to, her puppy-dog eyes were one of the strongest weapons she had of getting her way. During their many cafe chats, she'd told him stories of how she could have easily gotten away with murder back home by using it.

"Maybe….We'll have to see. Alice doesn't seem the type to fall for his charm."

Amelia looked pleased before standing and stretching to relieve the strain in her back from a long day of work.

"Well, ol' chap, it's getting late and I should be heading home."

"As a gentleman, I suppose it would be my duty to escort you."

Amelia pulled her handbag over her shoulder and stood, heels together and back straight.

"I'd definitely say leaving me would lose you a few points on the Gentleman-o-meter."

Arthur chuckled and gathered his things, shortly after departing with her on the quiet trek back to her apartment. It was conveniently on the way back to his own flat, and following wishes of goodnight and promises to meet again soon, he found the way back to the new place he called home. Unfortunately for him, a particular roommate decided to _also _ be home. For once.

"Ahh! Mon ami~ You are home late. Perhaps spending some personal time with a lady friend, no?"

"Knock off, Francis. I'm not going to let you ruin my mood this evening."

Arthur removed his shoes and entered the foyer, plopping his bag down on a nearby chair.

"Le poo! You are always so mean to me when I only have the best intentions in mind."

"Don't act like I'm the villain. Look, I even brought you a gift." Arthur replied, reaching into the bag to locate the-by now cold-container of stew. He stealthily removed it and placed it in the hand he held behind his back. Crossing the way over to where Francis was leaning against the couch, he gestured for Francis to hold out his hand. The man raised a delicate brow, but obliged nonetheless. Arthur smirked, a dark look on his face as he placed it in his waiting palm.

"Do enjoy, my friend."

"Mon dieu! I have been tainted by English Cooking!"

Arthur ignored the cries of the Frenchman and sauntered off to his room in triumph.

* * *

Author's Note: TINY little thing this time...Just wanted to write something down for an event on the blog. But thank you all SO much for your support and, as usual, you can always follow the blog/art at

ask-writerarthur . tumblr . com

~Faux


	5. Once Upon a Skype Call

It was dark, it was Sunday morning, it was 3 am, and Arthur wasn't happy. After having witnessed a startling scenario that he, if given the choice, would have liked to have missed, he lay with his eyes glued to his computer screen. He found himself wrapped up in the world of the internet, endlessly scrolling, seeking something he didn't quite know. It would be another day without an update on his blog, though he did find subtle comfort from the various posts that still flooded his dash from his friends over in England. Most of his family would be in bed right now, and as his eyes flicked down to the toolbar to check their skype status, a notification popped up.

**Ami "The Burger" Jones is Online**

Arthur froze. His hand wavered an inch from the mousepad, afraid to continue its work. Why would _she_ be on at this hour? It didn't matter why, did it, he thought to himself, trying to push back the mounting curiosity that was beginning to bubble over and force his mouse to hover over her name.

**Night out on the town with new buddies! Hope to do it again soon! **

Her status alone unnerved him, and yet his muscles subconsciously worked against him to click the mouse and open a chat. She'd changed her icon, he noticed. Instead of a picture of a certain loveable adopted cat that had gotten too close to the webcam (the same one who was ironically sleeping beside him on the bed), she'd chosen one of herself. It was a stereotypical selfie, peace-sign included, wearing the same attire he'd seen her in earlier that evening when…

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Hey, Artie! You're up early ;)**

Just as Arthur was about to return to his mundane blogging, the window had summoned itself from his nightmares. His cursor sat there, blinking in an empty box. There were a million things he wished to say to her, a million things he wanted to express, to rant and rave about. The cursor just kept blinking.

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Artie? You there? Did you fall asleep on me?!**

**Arthur Kirkland: No. I'm awake. Good morning, Amelia. **

He regretted it the instant that he typed it. What had convinced him that typing with her at three in the morning was a good idea?! Then again, he was still highly confused on why he was upset in the first place. Why was he still so conflicted about communicating with one of his only friends here in the States? Arthur couldn't tell if he was angry, sad, disappointed, or some strange muddled-up conglomeration of the three. Now, however, wasn't the time to think about it, as the bouncing orange indication on his taskbar brought him back to reality.

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Goodie! I thought that you'd gone to bed on me, ya old coot. Why are you up so early anyway?**

**Arthur Kirkland: I just can't sleep well, that's all. **

He fidgeted, sitting up from his sprawled-out position to lean now with his back against the wall, pillows embracing him either side, while he rested his laptop on his knees. Christopher Robin stirred and stretched before curling back into a furry ball once more.

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Awww...Do you need me to read you a bedtime story? Though I guess that's more up your alley, right?**

**Arthur Kirkland: I appreciate the offer, Amelia, but I could ask the same of you. What could possibly inspire you to wake up at this hour?**

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: lol. I always get up this early. Raised on a farm, ya know? Gotta collect those eggs from the chickens, milk the cows, and pa'll want me to start breakfast for him soon since he's gonna tend to the cattle in the field and my second uncle, who also happens to be my cousin due to the strange ways of southern marriage, is a good-for-nothing-bum that mooches off of our family. **

**Not to mention all the harvest will be coming in soon, so I have to get up EXTRA early. **

**Arthur Kirkland: I never knew that you had such a busy lifestyle, Miss Jones. **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Haha! I bet there's a lot you don't know about me, Mr. Kirkland. **

The corners of Arthur's mouth sagged down into a deep frown. The memories of what he'd discovered earlier that night came racing back to the forefront of his mind. His gaze shifted towards her status and icon once more.

**Arthur Kirkland: Lovely outfit you have on in your new picture, by the way. Did you attend a special event this evening? **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Oh you charmer you~ Nah, just something I put on to go out this evening. Ended up having a great time with some new friends! They were suuuper nice. **

_Super nice my arse. _

**Arthur Kirkland: You don't say? Then can I assume that the reason you're up might actually be influenced by a certain amount of alcohol?**

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Shush, you! :( I had like maybe two drinks, okay? They paid, so I thought it was in my best interest to take advantage of the situation. **

**Arthur Kirkland: Were these new friends from work? **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Nope. Just people I met on the street today. LOL!**

The sheer preposterous nature of her statement infuriated him. He attempted to replay the situation in his head, reformulating conclusions he'd made prior to her confession into a more suitable scenario. Not only had she failed to tell him that she wasn't going to be at work when she knew that he would be paying a visit, she'd gone off with _total strangers_ for drinks in a completely different part of town by herself?!

**Arthur Kirkland: You met them on the street? Amelia, you are undoubtedly one of the most friendly individuals I have yet to meet on this planet, but what in the name of gallifrey made you think that was a good idea?**

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Ha ha! I love it when you use your Doctor Who refs when you're upset. **

**Arthur Kirkland: This is no jest, Amelia. Is everything alright? They didn't force you to come with them, did they?!**

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Woah woah, Art! It's nothing like that. Both of them were as friendly and sweet as they could be, and treated me like a proper lady. A gentleman like you would have been proud. **

**Arthur Kirkland: I'd be more proud if I could give them a good thrashing. A **_**gentleman**_ **would get to know a lady first before sauntering off to a bar-with seemingly no intention of foul play. Amelia, if they did anything to you, you don't have to hide it. I'm not against calling the authorities on them. **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Arthur. Calm down. I was the one that interrupted their get-together and wanted to go to the bar with them. I can make my own decisions. I'm a big girl. **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: In more than one way I guess. **

Arthur didn't have time for her pity-party over her completely fabricated weight problem. By now he was fuming, hands gripping the sides of his laptop tightly. From now on, he determined, it was no more playing dumb. A heavy weight had forced itself into his chest, a pain he could only associate with the frustration he felt towards her reckless tendencies. His fingers flew across the keys rapidly, faster his mind could work to stop them.

**Arthur Kirkland: It's not about you being mature enough to make your own choices. This is about recognizing a dangerous situation when you're thrust into one. What if they had merely been pretending in order to get to you? The fact that they were able to lead you to a bar you'd never been before, purchase you multiple drinks-that could have been laced with bloody well anything- and then, I'm assuming in **_**gentlemanly fashion**_ **walked you to your home should have sent up a bleedin' gargantuan red flag! They could have been plotting to take advantage of you, Amelia, to return in your sleep and knock you off their target's list of unsuspecting women they had yet to shag and then brag about it to their gang of ruffians. **

**Arthur Kirkland: You could be DEAD right now, Amelia? And where would that leave me? Who would I have to blame than anyone but myself for seeing the situation and doing nothing about it, eh? That's right, no one. Just a grumpy Brit without a purpose who'd spend the rest of his life wondering what he could have done differently to have saved you. **

Somehow, he'd managed to physically exhausted himself with the vigor of his typing. He sat there, back straight, sweating at his temples while staring at the mess of text that had erupted in the chat box. For once since the conversation began, he felt...relieved. It was as if the catharsis of yelling into a electronic box had subdued the beast rising with him. While he outwardly cringed reading over it, he felt every word had been necessary.

The chat was silent for a few minutes. Then, he saw it: a tiny pencil began scrawling in the area just above his entry box. It scribbled, back and forth, for ages. Arthur felt his heart sink. No doubt she was planning on retaliating with her own emotional-fueled rant to return his own. He waited.

Just as he was about to type an apology, the window flashed a new message.

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: The reason I went with him was because he reminded me of you, Arthur. **

Arthur read and re-read the statement. He tried to wrap his head around it, analyze every piece for any hidden message of sarcasm, resentment. He could find none.

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: He looked and acted so much like you, Arthur. From your silly mannerisms, to your kind hearted smile. I knew I could trust him because I trust YOU, Arthur. **

He continued to be at a loss for words, anxiously watching the pencil flit across the chat box. What more could she have to say?

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: If you're so worried about me going off with strange guys. **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Why don't you do something about it? **

**Arthur Kirkland: Do you want me to do something about it?**

The pause between his statement and her answer was simultaneously just as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Are you asking me what I think you're asking me, or is this some sort of British mind-game?**

Arthur heaved a sigh of relief, the stress of the day and the fatigue of the early morning hour finally catching up with him. _Slow, methodical strokes_, he reminded himself. _You can do this, Kirkland. _

**Arthur Kirkland: I fear that I must do this in traditional British mind-game fashion, if you would allow it, Miss Jones. **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: Continue. **

**Arthur Kirkland: Amelia Jones, I must say that I have secretly fancied you for quite some time now. Would you do me the honor of participating in numerous other professional get-togethers, afternoon strolls through the park, and possible cozy evenings enjoying hot cups of tea while in addition to our weekly meetings at the cafe? **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: That was so British it hurt, Artie. **

**Arthur Kirkland: Forgive me, Miss. **

**Ami "The Burger" Jones: As an American, I feel it is my duty to respond in the language of my people. **

**Arthur Kirkland: Naturally. **

**Totally Artie's Gal: See you tomorrow at 10, Sweetie~**

* * *

Author's Note: I'm SO sorry that this was such a long-time coming with this. I've been really uninspired as of late, and working on a lot of other things at the moment with the blog and life in general, so forgive me OTL

But I hope that this is as fun for you to read as it was for me to write! I came up with the Skype idea a bit last minute, but I really liked the concept and so I rolled with it. I was originally intending to write this in first person (and it pretty much is save for pronoun usage), but I'm glad I stuck with the same POV as it turned out better than I think it would have otherwise.

I want to say HOW MUCH I appreciate all of you SO much for following this little continuous drabble of random events. I appreciate each and everyone of you for dealing with my slow updates ;_;

As always, if you want to read the full one, go to my blog here: ask-writherarthur .tumblr . com


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